An Antic Disposition

by Alan Gordon

  “Lamord overpraises me,” said Lother. “I was lucky that day.”

  “Not according to him,” said Fengi.

  “And even if I was that accomplished a swordsman, what use will I be to you here?” asked Lother. “There’s not been war in Slesvig since before I was born.”

  “Oh, you never know what might come up,” said Fengi.

  * * *

  Alfhild allowed herself to be taken to market with Gerutha, though she paid little heed to the raucous bustle around her. So it wasn’t until she had returned to the island that she noticed the small folded piece of paper that someone had slipped into her basket. She ran upstairs to her room, barred the door, and took it to the window.

  “I have word from your friend at Ribe,” she read. “Meet me tomorrow morning at the clearing in the woods. Remember your payment.”

  Payment, she thought. She and Lother now had money of their own, but it was under the control of Fengi. She rummaged through her father’s old chest until, near the bottom, she found a small pouch. There were some coins in it.

  She thought about expenses. Travel to Ribe and back, inns, food. What had she promised the man? To double the value of the ring, or to…

  She remembered what, in her haste and desperation, she had offered him. Surely he would not hold her to that. He was a millers son, not a rich man. She should have enough money to compensate him adequately without having to …

  She reached into the chest and pulled out a small dagger in a scabbard.

  The next morning she dressed hurriedly, securing the dagger on her left forearm under the sleeve. Then she threw on her cloak and picked up her basket.

  Lother was up and doing stretches on the lower floor when she came down.

  “I’m going to pick some flowers from the meadow,” she told him.

  “Do you want some company?” he asked.

  “No, thank you,” she said. “I’ll be back before noon.”

  She walked around the outside of the great hall, seeking to avoid any questions from Gerutha or Fengi. She made it to the entrance and across the drawbridge without any interference, then took the bridge that led south.

  Of all places to meet, she thought. The last time she was in that clearing was one of the worst days of her life. And it was so isolated. If the miller’s son intended to act dishonorably, there would be no one near to help her. But there was no one she could trust with the knowledge that she had betrayed Slesvig to help save Amleth. Maybe her brother, but she wanted to shield him more than anyone.

  She came to the path leading into the woods. She patted the dagger under her sleeve, took a deep breath, and went in.

  It was still early morning, and the clearing was mostly in shadow. As she came to it, she saw the man waiting at the other side, ready to fade into the trees in case there was any trap. She stopped.

  “I have your money,” she said. “What is the message?”

  He started walking toward her.

  “Stand where you are,” she commanded. “I can hear you just fine from here. What is the message?”

  “The message is that despite your best efforts, Amleth has been put on a boat to England,” said Fengi, emerging into the light.

  She took a step toward the path, and he was on her in an instant, his hand clamped around her wrist.

  “The millers son can neither read nor write, did you know that?” he said conversationally. “True of most men like that, but you’ve been too sheltered to be aware of it.”

  “Please let me go,” she said.

  “A patrol caught him returning from his holy mission,” he continued. “They knew he had no business to be traveling to and from that direction. They began asking him questions. Then they turned him over to me for further interrogation. I could have used your father’s help on that. He was always so good at guessing just the right amount of pain to elicit the truth from someone. But, alas, Gorm was not there because one of your lovers killed him.”

  “Lovers?” she said in shock.

  “That innocent virgin act quite took me in,” said Fengi. “But your messenger told us what you had promised him. In fact, that was the easiest part to get out of him. He was bragging about having you at the convent even as the blood was running from him.”

  “It’s a lie!” she cried, struggling with him.

  “I can only thank God that your father did not live to see you like this,” said Fengi. He twisted her arm behind her back so that she cried out. “And I thank God that I did.”

  He clapped his free hand over her mouth and pulled her toward him. “Come, Alfhild,” he said. “I have delivered the message. I think that I am entitled to the payment. Don’t you?”

  * * *

  * * *

  * * *

  She was running.

  She did not know which way she ran. The trees attacked her on all sides, tearing at the remnants of her gown, clawing at her face, their voices howling on all sides. Her father’s voice leading the pack.

  Everything her father had ever said about her was true. She knew that at long last. She had been a stupid little girl to think that she could ever be anything else. Now, she had finally become what she had been meant to become all of those years.

  A whore. Defiled. Like her mother.

  She had to cleanse herself somewhere. She had to get rid of him, his stench, her blood.

  And his blood.

  She had finally freed her hands enough to get at the dagger under her sleeve and swipe at him. He howled and rolled away, clutching his side, and she was off, bolting into the trees that offered no protection, but the path would be worse, much worse, and it was already too late, she had betrayed him, she had betrayed everyone, she had betrayed herself and the Holy Mother, and there would be no place to hide in all of the world.

  All she wanted was to be clean again.

  She burst out of the forest, the sun blinding her. She was crying as she ran, pathetic mewing sounds that disgusted her even as she made them. Water, she thought. I have to find water.

  She was in a meadow. It looked familiar. But how could it be familiar? she thought. I haven’t been in a meadow like this since mother died.

  Her mother. She remembered it all in a flash. Was it this meadow? A summer day, and she was chasing a butterfly. Her mother was reclining on a rise, great with child. With Lother. Alfhild was chasing butterflies through a field of wildflowers, and her mother was watching and smiling. And Yorick was with her. She remembered seeing them together, and they were sad and happy at the same time.

  Was it the same meadow? She stopped and looked around. There were no flowers in bloom. No, there were some late fall blossoms, something she couldn’t identify, near a tree. No butterflies, of course. It was far too late in the autumn to find them. Practically winter in the air. She wondered where they went in the winter, whether they migrated like the birds or simply died off. And a pond! There was a pond there.

  She ran to it, shedding her shameful garments, the ones that had turned her into the horrible creature that she was. She couldn’t think straight. She had been having trouble thinking straight for weeks, ever since she had come home from the convent. The water would help clear her mind. She peeled off what was left of her linens and jumped in.

  It was colder than she expected, much colder, but she welcomed it. It numbed her, and she wanted more than anything to stop the pain. To stop feeling anything at all. She wondered if he had put a baby into her. There were girls at the convent when she was there, bad, sinful girls, who had told her what had happened to them, and how the babies got there. Some of the babies were born in the convent, and then smuggled away in the night. She didn’t know where they went. Just like the butterflies.

  There was nothing left, she thought dreamily, letting her hair drift in the water. I could just drift here until all the feeling stops. That would be a kindness.

  Amleth, she thought suddenly. At least he got the message. He was still alive, even if he was on the boat that was carryi
ng him to his doom. But she had warned him. He was smart. He would think of something.

  Would he take her back, defiled as she was? She laughed abruptly, then coughed as she swallowed some pond water. Why should she worry about whether he would take her back, when he had killed her father? Was not his sin the greater? If she could forgive him that, then he could forgive her.

  Amleth still lived, and that meant there was still some hope, even if it was small. She could hide, summon Lother, and run somewhere. Maybe Paris. Amleth had friends there, and Lother knew the city now. Lother and I could protect each other, even if Amleth doesn’t find us.

  She kicked her way back to the edge of the pond and pulled herself out, fallen leaves from the overhanging trees tangled in her hair. She started shivering fiercely, her energy drained. She mopped feebly at her body with her gown. Her feet had been cut during her dash through the woods, and she leaned forward and washed them, thinking she could bandage them when they dried.

  A pair of hands rested on her shoulders.

  “Well, here you are,” said a voice behind her. “I have been looking for you. You’ll catch your death like this.”

  She looked up at the others face, and felt her small bit of hope flutter away and die somewhere, far beyond her reach.

  “It doesn’t matter anymore,” said Alfhild.

  “No,” said the other. “It doesn’t.”

  She struggled as she went under the surface, but the hands were strong, and the cold was stronger.

  Twenty

  “Come, the croaking raven doth bellow for revenge."

  —Hamlet, Act III, Scene II

  Slesvig—1175 A.D.

  Gerutha returned in the late morning, her market basket over her arm. She was met by a worried Lother asking if she had seen his sister. Her negative response sent him scurrying up the platforms for the fifth time that day. He looked around quickly, then returned to her.

  “I thought she would be back by now,” he said.

  “She can take care of herself, you know,” she said, smiling at him.

  “I am supposed to keep her safe,” said Lother. “I should have gone with her.”

  “She’s probably just picking flowers somewhere, and lost in thought,” Gerutha reassured him. “She gets distracted so easily. She’ll come back when she’s hungry.”

  “You make her sound like a pet,” said Lother miserably. “Oh, well. I worry too much about her.”

  “It’s only natural,” said Gerutha sympathetically. “She’s all the family you have.”

  He sighed.

  “Let me carry your basket to the kitchen,” he offered, reaching for it.

  “No need,” she said. “It’s light. See?”

  She held it up to demonstrate, then walked away. He stood there, feeling useless.

  Fengi was in a foul mood at luncheon, picking at his food and wincing occasionally.

  “I have no appetite,” he said finally, pushing his bowl away. “I am going to visit the southern earthenworks.”

  “I thought that’s what you were doing this morning,” said Gerutha.

  “I was at the northern walls this morning,” said Fengi irritably.

  “But surely you rode south …”

  “I rode north,” barked Fengi. “I ride south now. I will return before sunset.”

  He stormed out, and she looked after him in concern.

  “What is the matter with him?” she wondered aloud.

  “Indigestion, from the looks of it,” said Lother.

  “He’s never had a problem eating anything in his life,” she said.

  As the sun began its descent toward the west, Lother paced the entire length of the island repeatedly, occasionally climbing different guard towers to scan the area, waiting for a glimpse of her white gown in the distance. His nervousness was contagious, and the guards were soon straining their eyes in their search of the horizons. Yet for all of their vigilance, Alfhild’s return to the island near sunset went unremarked. It wasn’t until the two farmers turned their cart onto the drawbridge that the guards at the gate realized that the lump under the blanket was a body.

  If the captain of the watch had any hope of keeping Lother from seeing her corpse, it was shattered as the boy dashed through the men surrounding the cart, scattering them like skittles. He threw back the blanket and froze, taking it all in at once, the unnatural pallor, the hair still wet and stringy, the bruises on her shoulders, the broken fingernails and the cuts on her feet. None of the veteran soldiers present would have thought any less of the boy had he screamed or cried at the sight, but he merely stood there, then leaned forward and kissed her brow. “Where is her clothing?” he asked quietly.

  “Wasn’t none,” said one of the farmers. “How we found her.”

  “Where?” he asked.

  “Meadow near the south forest,” said the farmer. “Pond there. The horse was thirsty. She was floating, face down. We pulled her out right away, but she was gone.”

  Lother looked at her one last time, then pulled the blanket back over her.

  “Thank you for bringing her here,” he said. “I was worried.”

  “It must have been her madness that did this,” said Fengi, coming up behind him. “She must have lost her senses, threw off her clothing, and ran until she found the pond.”

  “She didn’t kill herself!” yelled Lother.

  “No, no, it was an accident,” said Fengi hurriedly, “Anyone can see that. No one will ever think it a suicide.” He put an arm around the boy’s shoulders and squeezed gently. “I’m sorry, lad. She was a troubled soul, but she’s in a better place now. Go and pray for her. I’ll take her to the church.”

  “I should have gone with her,” muttered Lother.

  “There was nothing you could have done,” said Fengi. “If it hadn’t happened now, it would have happened some other time.”

  “I could have saved her,” said Lother.

  “You could not be with her every minute of the day,” said Fengi. “I blame myself. I should have returned her to the convent after we buried your father. I thought that she would benefit from her freedom here. But she was beyond help. I see that now. I am sorry, Lother.”

  Lother turned and walked back to his quarters. As he came to the door, Gerutha came running up.

  “Oh, my poor boy,” she cried, hugging him to her breast.

  And it was in that maternal embrace, the first he could remember in his life, that he finally started crying. She held him for a while, then released him, wiping his face with her kerchief.

  * * *

  * * *

  * * *

  The Bishop was quickly persuaded that the death was accidental, and consented to have her buried by her parents. Privately he thought it a suicide, but it was not the first favor he had ever done for Fengi, and it was a small one at that.

  He did not go so far as to preside at the funeral mass, leaving that task to one of his subordinate priests. Lother went to confession briefly before it began, but emerged looking angry and unconsoled.

  The priest led the procession to the cemetery north of the town, the simple coffin on a cart drawn by a donkey. Lother walked behind it, his hand resting on his sister’s final enclosure. When they reached the cemetery, the grave was already prepared, and the two gravediggers stood a respectful distance away, their caps in their hands.

  An honor guard took the coffin on a pair of ropes and lowered it gently into the ground. The priest droned the final prayers over it, and Lother stepped forward and tossed a handful of dried wildflowers into the grave.

  ‘”You died because of Amleth,” he said. “As did our father. I only wish that he could be here so that…”

  Gerutha screamed, and Lother looked up into the eyes of Amleth.

  “Did she die because of me?” said Amleth softly. “Then let my life be forfeit. You have a sword. I will not resist. But know that I never knew anything but love for her.”

  Lother’s hand went slowly to the hilt of his
sword.

  “Lother, stay your hand,” begged Gerutha. “There has been too much loss of late.”

  “Then what’s one more?” snapped Lother, drawing his sword. “You say you loved her. Then join her.”

  Amleth knelt by the grave.

  “I want nothing less,” he said. “Promise me that you will bury me by her side.”

  “Excuse me, sir,” called one of the gravediggers. “There isn’t enough room for that. We’d have to widen it another three feet, and that’s going to take at least another hour.”

  Lother turned and stared at the man in disbelief, then looked back down at Amleth.

  “This is consecrated ground,” he said, sheathing his sword. “I will not spill blood upon it. And if you think I would let a murderer’s body rest for eternity by my poor sister, then you are mad.”

  “That’s what they tell me,” said Amleth. “May I stand up now?”

  Lother nodded, and Amleth rose and walked over to Gerutha and Fengi.

  “Hello, mother,” he said. “I’m back.”

  “You were banished,” said Fengi. “What are you doing here?”

  “Long story,” said Amleth. “I will tell you all about it. But not now.”

  Lother picked up a handful of dirt and threw it on top of the coffin, then stormed off. The rest of the assembly filed out of the graveyard. As Amleth stepped through the gate, two of Fengi’s guards seized him.

  “What will you do with him?” asked Gerutha.

  “We’ll lock him up for now,” said Fengi as they carried him off. “I have to think.”

  He stopped. Horace was standing by the graveyard, crossing himself as he looked at Alfhild’s grave.

  “So, you’re here as well,” said Fengi.

  “He’s my friend,” said Horace. “He needed my help.”

  “Are all of your friends madmen?” asked Fengi.

  “A lot of them,” said Horace.

  “Come with us,” Fengi ordered. “Turn your weapons over to the captain.”